


A FIRM AWARENESS

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Content, M/M, Mech/Mech, Mentor/Student, Out of Character, Sleazy Naiveté, Small-tick of Bondage and Pain, Squeaker Content, Sticky, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red fingers dance against shivering plating, and whimpers fill the audio-receptors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A FIRM AWARENESS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothinsel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothinsel/gifts).



> A/N: Big old huge thanks to one Rothinsel for this very yummy idea: sleazy/creepy Ratchet and naïve Pharma (maybe not so naïve but very trusting). I swiped it and ran.

 Pharma starts as a hand rubs absently at the base of his neck.  His wings quiver as he looks over and around at his mentor.  He huffs and leans to the side allowing the older mech to view his assigned task.  He taps a bit impatiently at his knee-joint under the table.  Hoping that he would be able to return to his task quickly even as he feels the hand shift downward to the left join of his back and wing.  He stills his drumming finger and watches the stoic face as it quirks with a grin at what is contained on the data-pad.   _No that…_ Pharma ex-vents very slowly.   _Ratchet said he needed help with this complication that had arisen from a recent case._

Ratchet’s fingertips trace back up Pharma’s back.  He squeezes the aerial’s shoulder before moving back around the large desk to slump in his chair.  “We’ve almost got it figured out.”  He taps a few keys and the case files flash up on a screen on the wall.  “We may even have a potential cure.”  He smirks at the younger mech as he rests his chin against his palm.  “Good work.”

Trying to tamp down his excitement, Pharma smiles at his mentor.  Praise was very rare from Ratchet.  He had exacting standards and demanded nothing less than the best from himself and those who worked around him.  It was one of the many reasons Pharma, and several other medical students, had strived so hard to get the older doctor to allow an intern to study under him despite all the whispered rumors.  Pharma hikes his wings up sharply when Ratchet’s attention was absorbed into the medical files.

He shakes his head and tries to focus on his work again after a brief glance over the physical features of the other doctor.   _No, Pharma, stay professional.  Despite the lingering touches, Ratchet requires professionalism!  Thoughts about--about--about t-t-that…those things…_  He hunches forward slightly to hide his blush.  He prays to which ever ancient power is listening that his fans remain off even as his frame warms, and his mind begins to wonder what the older mech was like in the berth given his strictness in the field.  He bites his lip in self-disappointment.   _Not that he’d care for a lack of knowledge in anything he did._

“Eh?”

The flyer’s optics snap open as he looks at the grounder who had one optical ridge raised.  “Y-yes?”  He clears his vents and tries again.  “Yes, sir?”

“You were muttering to yourself.”  A quick smile and chuckle.  “And chewing on your bottom lip.”

Pharma shifts at that, taking it as a reprimand.  “Yes, sir.  Sorry, just stuck on the equational theory.”  He focuses back on his work and misses the small frown that tugs at Ratchet’s lip.

“I see.”

Both return to their respective files.  The scratch of a stylist and the soft hum of internal systems is the only noise in the comfortably sized office for a long time.  Pharma brutally pushes aside any other thoughts and goals from his processors to focus on the solution that is currently evading them.

Several hours pass before Pharma jumps again at the caress of cold that touches his cheek.

A gruff chuckle.  “You always get so lost in your work?”  Ratchet’s smile is slight as he holds the chilled energon out to Pharma.  “You should really be more aware of your surroundings.”

“Ah, yes.  Thank you.”  The younger medic sips from the cube.

Instead of going back around to the other side of the desk, Ratchet leans against the desk next to Pharma and gives him a long considering look that makes the younger a bit weary.  Pharma peeks at his work from a lateral sensor and again misses the slight downturn of lips.  He had been very close to solving the problem.  Was it really his fault that he had become so absorbed that he—

He starts and focuses his attention on Ratchet when the older mech strokes two fingers down a cheek to grasp Pharma’s chin.  The grip is firm and unyielding as his mentor’s optics travel the expanse of his face.  Ratchet’s thumb taps and pulls at the corner of Pharma’s mouth.  The mentor considers the student with a steady gaze.

“Awareness is very important, Pharma.”

Pharma tries to shift upon hearing the familiar tone of lecture in Ratchet’s voice, but the hand stays any moment.

“Awareness of knowledge, medical and other, can save the life of your patient or cause him to come to great harm.”

A hand splays across the glass on Pharma’s torso.  It slides tantalizing down to the lowest edge where fingers touch along a transformation seam.

“Awareness of your abilities, understanding what you can and cannot do, can lead you to the correct opportunity to secure your future.”

Pharma’s optics widen as his mentor leans forward to touch his helm against that of his student.  Ratchet ghosts his nasal ridge against Pharma’s cheek until he can gaze into his optics.  The flyer shivers at the lust he sees within.

“Awareness of your physical person creates empathy for that of the patient and his predicament; which in turn creates the fuel you require to accomplish what may seem impossible.”

The younger gasps and starts as two fingers tug sharply at wires contained in his hips.  The firm grip remains on Pharma’s chin as Ratchet licks under his optical lens.

“And I think,” Ratchet ex-vents in a whisper, “it is to explore the awareness of your physical person in pleasure.”  He lowers his other hand to lay above Pharma’s spark that tumbles in wakeful apprehension.  He nips lightly at neck cables that contact with a swallow.

Wings flex against the back of the chair.  Pharma clutches at a data-pad on the desk, almost desperately seeking to steady the pounding in his spark.  Another gasp escapes him as a hand smooths over his interfacing panel.  His cord knocks against its cover as a thumb taps a hello.  The data-pad shakes in his grip as he slips it in between Ratchet’s chest and his own.

“Sir...work…need solution to…ah!”  Wings dig almost painfully into the chair’s back support as three fingers are drummed quickly against his valve cover.  He shakes his head and tamps down on the losing battle against the lust which coats Ratchet’s EM field and is slithering into his like a nasty worm through his processors.  “You said work,” is the desperate choked attempt to get a handle on his own lust.

Ratchet clasps the data-pad and pulls it from weakened fingers, tossing it aside.  He smiles smugly at his student.  Lips mesh together as a glossa snakes into a gaping mouth.  Red fingers hold the blue helm steady.  A husky muffled chuckle echoes mumbled words.  Pharma shuts his optical sensors down and shivers against the sensation of a glossa mapping his oral cavity.  This sensation while not unwelcomed is wholly new and overwhelming for the young mech.  The chair back creaks as wings continue to drive into its mesh.

Snick.

“What—” Pharma tries to pull his head away, but Ratchet will not let him.  The flyer’s shivering intensives as the exploring thumb is pressed against the head of his cord.  Pharma’s own hands paw at the air as they tremble.

The young medic gasps and stutters as Ratchet final pulls away still thumbing the head of the slowly pressurizing spike that twitches in answer to his questioning press forward.  The older medic’s denta sink into neck cables with a low growl.  A static whine of denial and pleading whimper meet that growl.  The tip of Ratchet’s thumb catches on the glowing nodes and non-linear swirls that make up the cable that slips easily into his red hand.

“Why is awareness important, Pharma?”

“Aw!”

Ratchet grins at that mewling static gasp.  He pets a knuckle more firmly back up the length to capture Pharma’s attention.  In a commanding voice and still sporting a smug self-satisfied grin, he leans his chin against the younger mech’s chest and asks,  “Why is awareness important, Pharma?”

“Awareness is very important.”

Blue and white plating twitch as that light touch traces back down to rub against the base of the erection.  Ratchet’s free hand plucks at the inlaid wires in Pharma’s hip joint.  “Yes, I know that.  WHY is it important, Pharma?”  He lets a little disappointment enter his tone as the ghosting caress turns lighter.

Pharma’s optics snap back on as he reaches to stop what he has interpreted as Ratchet pulling away from the intimate caress due to his inability to answer.  “Awareness of self equals awareness of ability,” he hedges desperately trying to remember what his mentor had just said.  “Awareness…ah!!”

The tight grip on his spike causes Pharma’s spark to pulse and his frame to jump.  He begins to babble medical chagrin as Ratchet strokes him.  “And?”

“Awareness is?!”  A gasping sob as Ratchet digs his thumb deeply into the head of the cord.  Transfluid bunches and pushes about the intrusion.  A crack sounds as a wing joint it stressed to breaking.  Pharma’s helm digs into the back the chair.  His vocalizer spits only static as Ratchet ghosts that same thumb over the head he had just abused.  The other red fingers tap dance over sparking nodes along the rest of the length, drawing a full charge from one node before moving onto the next to prevent it from triggering an overload.  The hand at Pharma’s hip has moved to splay against the glass along his shaking torso just below the jumping energy field put off by his spark.  Ratchet pushes the twitching frame back against the chair.

“Please!”

“Please?”  A softening of a grip.  Another mewling static cry.  “Look at me.”

“Please…”  A broken whimper.  A self-satisfied smile as optics fritz on.

“Want to watch you shatter,” is the husked reply that sets Pharma’s neural pleasure net into a cascading overload.

-O-

As white static fades into colors in his visual feed, Pharma spits a cloying noise.  The clack of metal against metal scrapes over his audios as his back moves against a flat surface.  Awareness returns like a short circuit to the temporal processing unit.  His mouth moves but not even static bursts forth as he stares at the stern optics of his mentor who is brushing sticky fingers along blue dents and cracks along an upper arm.

“Ah, so you’re awake now?”  Ratchet smiles down at his student.   All softness leaves a moment later when the realization strikes the prone mech.  “Yes.”  A clearing of vents.  “Rather not explain any more dents than I have to.”  His fingers tap at his elbow joint as he considers Pharma who tugs at the corded bindings around his wrist.  “You don’t mind do you?”

“Mind?”  A stubborn set touches his brow a moment before Ratchet turns to face him and places his red hands on either side of spread hips.  The younger medic’s optics snap down and widen at the exposed interface array and the full erection.  He stutters into silence as the head of Ratchet’s cord nudges at the base of his.

“Mmm, yes.”  Smug, lust-filled optics narrow at the blooming pleasure.  “You know you look rather delicious laid out like this.”  The older mech chuckles at the purring flutter that dances against his field from Pharma's dancing field.  He shifts his cable along the other in slow burr of metal on metal.  “Laid out for me to eat at my leisure.”  A glossa flicks out teasingly against smiling lips and runs a suggestive circle.  He hums at the responsive shiver and arch of the frame beneath him.  “Perhaps later,” he tempts in a stuttered huff.

The slow slide of Ratchet’s erect cord against Pharma’s drives the bound flyer to distraction.  He can only manage small answering movements as Ratchet’s hands are placed tighter against his outer hips.  They press his thighs inward trapping him, giving the older medic full control of the slide and slip of one cord against the other.  Ratchet’s optics study the flickering light that dances below him.  The frames’ systems move to cool the heating that courses through internal workings.  With the exception of a few misplaced grunts, gasps and moans, it somewhat eerily quiet.

Ratchet lowers his helm after several moments of moving against Pharma to lick at the invisible seam above the spark chamber.  Pharma’s strangled cries and pants fill the quiet as he twists in his bonds.  He presses his thighs closer to Ratchet, hooking his knees about the red aft and rubbing his peds along the back of the older mech’s thighs unconsciously.  Ratchet grunts in response.  He leans his weight on one hand and moves the other along the join of hip and torso to reach between them.  He knocks a knuckle in command against Pharma’s valve cover twice.  Accompanied by a stuttering mewl, the cover slides away.

Keeping his movements slow and controlled even as he begins to feel as if he is burning from the inside out, he tickles one finger about the rim of the valve.  The static in Pharma’s vocalizations grows as he undulates against the desk at his back seeking more friction.  Lubricant coats Ratchet’s questing finger after a moment before it is pulled away, and the hand is laid against the bouncing hip to still its movements.  Ratchet hunches his back as he licks abdominal plating just above the pulsing charged cord.  A sob is torn from the static as Ratchet licks a straight line up the stomach onto the chest and into the neckline where he bites hard.

Pharma keens and mewls, floundering.  He trembles into a jumping stillness as Ratchet holds his throat in his mouth.  All movement but for unconscious twitches stops.  Red hands sweep up over and back behind blue thighs.  Fingers dig sharply into knee joints to cause calf struts and cables to loosen with a snap.  Ratchet’s bite at Pharma’s neck grows heavier as he shifts back away.  He licks the wound in a silent apology before straightening to loom over the younger medic.  A smug quirk to the corner of his mouth is barely seen by Pharma.

Ratchet continues to back away from Pharma even as his hands hook behind blue knees to lift and spread the younger mech wide open for his viewing pleasure and leisure.  His optical nerves flash in a deep purring satisfaction as he watches the dribbles track from the contracting valve.  His cord nudges the entrance before pushing forward in a shallow thrust.  A displeased rumble rips through his chassis when Pharma arches violently and tries to impale himself.  His grip is firm as he jerks the blue aft clear of the desk and spreads the knees wide in reprimand for the action.

“Awareness is-“

A spiraling cry of frustration and a pleading whine.

“Awareness is!!”  A rough command given on the edge of several sharp shallow thrusts before the spike is pulled fully out and left to rub against the anterior node.

“Ability…” is the gasped cry.

“Awareness is ability,” Ratchet grinds out aligning himself, “awareness is important because we are nothing without that ability.”  He slams his hips forward, fully seating himself.  His hands tighten into a denting grip as Pharma shakes and tries to pull himself free so that he can move.

Circling his hips and keeping the thrusts deep but shallow, Ratchet moves.  His optics sharp on the face of the medical student beneath him.  As with the earlier slip of one cord against another, Ratchet keeps a steady but slow pace.  Wringing every pleasure he can from the mewling mech beneath him.  Gasps and static fill the silence in between the impacting ring of metal.  He dips his hips downward to thrust upward before moving to the tips of his peds to start a heavy thrust down in the next moment.  Ratchet loses himself in this baiting rhythm.  Charge is given and denied with it as each change drives forward relentlessly.

A wailing spiral of static is Ratchet’s only warning as Pharma chokes into overload.  The charge finally too much for his abused systems.  Ratchet catches his own lip and bites down viciously enough to draw energon.  His optics narrow and focus on the lax face even as he continues to thrust into the relaxing tightness.  Several sharp thrusts draw Pharma back from the edge of sleep which calls like a siren to a taxed system.

Pharma shakes his head and pleads even as his body moves with the now bruising pace.  He sharply intakes as Ratchet drops his knees and grabs his abdominal plates in a fierce hold.  The older mech pounds into the bound frame.  Pharma is almost lost again as Ratchet relentlessly seeks his overload.  The younger medic releases a harsh cry as transfluid jets into the constricting walls of his valve.  A red finger shakily pushes roughly against a blue cord as the flyer is pushed into his third ringing overload.

-O-

Pharma trembles, but can do no more as a weight rests above him.  He bits at his lips.  Transfluid shifts about the cord drippling onto the desk with a soft tap-tap beneath the pings of cooling metal frames and the whirl of fans.  He tentatively returns the nuzzle of Ratchet’s facial derma against his own.  He tries to restrain the growing need for affectionate displays that his spark clambers for.  He cannot help the kiss his turns to place along Ratchet’s audio.  He rolls his bottom lip and shuts off his optics as he feels the frame above him tense.

Red fingers dig into a blue waist softly before flattening out until fingers and palms lay against abdominal plating.  The hands ghost upwards, teasingly petting over a heaving chest, tickling at wires between chest and shoulder joint, and coming to slide over bound wrists before wiggling against sensitive medical fingers.  The sound of a transformation, a quick pull of bindings, and they fall away under the pressure of the medical scalpel.  Red hands guide blue to broad shoulders before thicker arms wrap around an arching body.

The lax cord perks in interest within the cycling valve as slow movements whisper sensitized nodes against each other.  Ratchet shuts down his optics as he moves his body against Pharma who moves in slow tandem with him.  He ex-vents against the younger’s neck cables.  He cannot keep the small pleased smile from his lips as he and Pharma are enveloped in a rolling wave of another overload that cascades over their stressed systems in a slow consuming pull.


End file.
